Yesterday was Valentine’s Day and my sweetie and I decided we would celebrate by giving each other a trip to the Smokey Mountains in Gatlinburg, TN. I had never been to Gatlinburg, but had heard it was somewhat of a tourist trap with airbrushed T-shirts and things like Hillbilly Mini-Golf, go-karts, and Ripley’s Believe It or Not attractions. I was totally game as I have always had a special place in my heart for white trash. I was also excited to see Smokey Mountain National Park for the hiking and breathtaking photo opportunities. We planned the weekend with another couple whom we are close friends. Our cabin was going to provide the get-away we all needed with an outdoor hot tub, two floors, a pool table, and a gorgeous view of the mountains. I couldn’t wait to leave work at noon on Friday.
My valentine picked me up and we headed East for our romantic weekend. Things were off to a great start. He surprised me with a heart-shaped balloon that read “I Love You,” and a gift card for a local Spa. I showed my gratitude by buying him Subway from a gas station where we stood behind a 500 pound man with a ponytail. Cupid’s arrow was on target.
We arrived in town to find an annoying amount of traffic and quickly falling snow. I could sense my boyfriend was getting frustrated…well, really, it was quite obvious by the sighing, swearing, and yelling that was coming out of his mouth, but I assured him all of the trouble would be worth it once we arrived at our cabin.
“Do you have chains?” the cabin rental attendant asked my boyfriend. We didn’t have chains, but we did have a truck with 4 wheel drive. “You should be okay,” he told us, “but, you may need them if it gets too bad.” Of course they hadn’t expected snow this weekend. Of course our cabin was at the highest altitude of the ones they rented.
The snow didn’t look too bad, but always one to err on the side of caution, my candy coated sweetheart decided we needed to drive in the opposite direction (through the traffic) to find a Wal-Mart where we could purchase chains. Our friends were four hours behind us and we had plenty of time. I was excited to get to the cabin and have an intimate dinner before cabin mates arrived. Though we had eaten some time at the world’s trashiest grocery chain, we still had plenty of time to make it to the cabin and start our weekend.
“The snow looks like it is stopping,” I said as we started for the cabin. I was sure our friends would be able to make the journey up hill by car without our help. If not, we knew we could pick them up in the truck when they arrived.
After a dark and confusing detour, we found our road and were moving steadily until we reached the bottom of what we could only assume was the path to our cabin. “Shit, is that car stuck?” my conversation heart asked. Yep, he was stuck.
“The cars are all gettin’ stuck, but the four-wheel drives can get up,” a local told us. We watched as other weekenders put on boots and began walking up the hill with rolling suitcases.
“I’m not going to take any chances,” my boyfriend said as he hopped out of the truck. He opened his newly purchased chains and began to fasten them to his tires. About 4o minutes later (after he was completely wet from snow) he discovered the chains did not fit his tires. We were just going to have to do without the metallic safety nets.
“Just drive and don’t stop,” we were told as we made our way towards the deadly incline. We dodged stranded cars and suitcase rollers, but managed to make our way to our cabin…at the very top of the hill.
We had made it! Finally, time for some relaxation. Oh wait, the driveway was almost as steep as the main road and it was covered in snow.
Five trips and 40 minutes later our stuff was inside the cabin. Groceries, luggage, a cooler, fondue pot, and bags of liquor had survived the hike.
“Well, let’s go,” my now wet and exhausted Valentine said. We were going to have to drive down the hill to pick up our friends. I must have read the calendar wrong. It was Groundhog’s Day, not Valentine’s.
“Babe, babe, babe, God, Babe,” my boyfriend said as the back-end of his truck slid out from behind. We were now perpendicular to the road and heading straight for a parked and abandoned Yukon.
Phew. We stopped 5 feet in front of the front of the vehicle. I got out of the truck, not willing to risk my life for this journey. He was stuck.
“You’re going to have to try to pull up,” I said. It was the only way to get around the Yukon. Bust. He slid into the other vehicle and landed in a reverse t-bone collision.
Swear words, panic, even a few tears. “Please God,” I said. “Let us get out of this alive.”
I was sure we were going to die. Someone was going to see we had hit their truck and they were going to shoot us. We were going to freeze to death on the top of this mountain. If we did live through it, our friends were going to hate us. They would say it was okay that we couldn’t get to them, but it would always be this unspoken awkwardness. We had enjoyed the Valentine’s cabin without them. They had spent the night in a crowded Family Inn with a green colored indoor heated pool, chalky bar soap, and hair on the pillows.
“I see headlights!” I said. My boyfriend waved his arms…as if they weren’t going to see two giant trucks in the middle of the road.
A man wearing a camo jacket and a long gray beard got out of his car and approached us carrying a flashlight. ‘It’s a hillbilly KKK member,’ I thought. ‘Surely this is his friend’s truck and he has come to kill us.’ I wondered if he pulled a gun if I would run and leave my boyfriend or try to fight back. I run marathons, my boyfriend hurts his knee playing touch-football. I didn’t want to think about being single again.
My phone was ringing. It was our friends. As my broken Valentine and the Klan member strategized about the car, I fielded the call.
“We’re hiking,” our friend said. “We are loading up my hiking pack with liquor and hiking to you.”
“It’s about 3 miles,” I explained as I very crappily relayed directions up to our cabin.
Fast forward two hours later and our friends arrived at the cabin’s door. It was 10:30 PM. My boyfriend’s truck would stay in the t-bone position until morning. The Klan member turned out to be a family man from Kentucky, in town for a weekend with his wife and three kids. Our friends hiked the three miles. She had just had foot surgery in December and had basically traded her walking boot for a hiking boot.
We ate, drank heavily, and soaked in the hot tub. It had been a long day. It had been a nightmare.
The next day we retrieved the truck, made it to our friends’ car and pulled out the rest of the supplies for our Valentine’s fondue dinner. We even made it into town for lunch and a visit to a jerky store.
Accidents, injuries, and the fear of death aside, it was really great weekend.
